Outcast (26 page)

Bodmer, an exemplary Christian of good stature and comeliness, wanted to take those nuts back to the tent to share with the one remaining miner. However as he was leaving the cave, he heard a terrible scream and realized that Standish had set himself another table of human flesh
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Bodmer watched the terrible milieu, fearing for his own life as Standish stalked about the next couple of days, looking for new prey. Satisfied that Bodmer had fled the scene, the thought crept into Standish's brutish mind that he must make his getaway. He constructed a sled of lumber from dead miners' sluices, loaded their gold in it and made his way down the mountain. No sign has been seen of this devil incarnate since then
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A collection has been taken to aid Bodmer. Contributions may be taken to the Rev. Periwinkles office in the Church of the Sacred. Others have contributed to a reward for the death of Miles Standish. This paper has contributed generously to that holy cause. We trust our readers will see that as their Christian duty
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Dolby's face wrinkled with revulsion. He handed the story back to Standish. Standish leaned across the table.

“Do you see the demon in my eyes?”

Dolby shook his head.

“Apparently you're not experienced in tracking down demons. The preacher in this story saw the demon in these eyes, and he's never even met me.”

Dolby sighed.

Standish continued. “I didn't get a chance to talk to the reporter who wrote this story. I suspect he would have wanted me to howl like a wolf. You want to howl with me Sheriff? Maybe we can howl in harmony.”

The sheriff stared at the table for a full two minutes before raising his head. “That Moose Creek Mine down in the Beartooths?”

Standish shook his head. “Up in the Beartooths.”

Dolby sighed. “Way up?”

“Way up.”

“So this.…” Dolby picked up the news article. “So this Samuel Bodmer found pine cones above the tree line?”

“Amazing isn't it?”

Dolby nodded.

Standish told him about the old man and the teepee, about walking into town and reading about himself in the newspaper article. “I didn't ever get a chance to straighten it out.”

“And this Bodmer has been after you ever since?”

“He travels with a pack. Could be they bay at the moon.”

Dolby nodded. “Not much I can do about that.”

Standish shook his head. “You underestimate yourself.”

The sheriff's eyes disappeared into slits. “What do you figure I should do?”

“Maybe you should investigate me.”

“How the hell can I justify…?”

“You've got a suspected cannibal and murderer in your jurisdiction. How the hell can you sit on your hands?”

“The commissioners.…”

“I'll give you the money to go to Rosebud?”

Dolby's eyes squeezed shut. “Where the hell did you get the money?”

“I took my gold with me to buy supplies. Later I sold my claim to a mining company. They don't give a damn who they deal with. They'll even buy claims from cannibals.”

“How do I know you'll be here when I get back?”

Standish leaned back in his chair. “You don't, but I didn't run this morning, or shoot you or toss you in a roaster.”

Standish leaned back in his chair. “If you'd gotten the drop on me, you'd have shot me, wouldn't you?”

Dolby ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “Probably.”

“I'm not going to run.”

Dolby nodded, running the possibilities through his mind. He leaned across the table. “Once I start poking around, this Bodmer fella will know it.”

“Yeah.”

“He'll be after you. Even if I find something it won't make any difference if you're dead.”

Standish nodded.

“Then why the hell are you doing it?”

Standish rubbed his forehead. “I'm tired of…running. Arch and Iona have suffered enough. I can't run off into the mountains and leave them.…”

Standish leaned across the table, staring into Dolby's eyes. “They are under attack. Arch walks around with that damn shotgun. Sooner or later, some drunk will come out, and Arch will kill him. Then he'll he running just like me. He doesn't have a chance in hell. A lot of this rests on your shoulders, because you didn't do one damn thing to help them.”

Dolby sighed.

Standish ran his fingers through his hair. “Anyone could kill me, and good riddance. The two of them.… They're good people, and I can't just let them.…”

Dolby nodded. “She's a nice lady, isn't she?”

Standish nodded. “And Arch.…”

Dolby stood. “My pistol?”

Standish nodded. He carried the pistol back to the sheriff and handed it to him butt first.

Dolby dropped the pistol in its holster. “What do you figure I should look for?”

“Records, anything left over from the miners. Most of them didn't have any family. No place to ship their things, so the county would hang on to them in case I was caught and some charge filed.”

Dolby nodded. “If nothing else, they'll keep them for a little museum on the Moose Creek Cannibal. How long do you figure you've got before Bodmer figures out where you are?”

“They will be here in two days, maybe three.”

“And if they get here before I get back.”

Standish stared at the table, scratching a dark spot in the paint. “Most likely they will hang me.”

Dolby took off his hat and scratched his head “Ah, hell, Miles, you know I'm not likely to find anything. Clem Barker didn't, and he's a better than average sheriff. Known him for years.”

Standish stared across the table into Dolby's eyes. “He didn't look. He already knew who the Moose Creek cannibal was. Bodmer told him.”

Dolby sighed. “So what are you going to do for these next two or three days?”

“You mean the rest of my life?”

Dolby shut his eyes and nodded.

“I'll go to church,” Standish said.

Dolby sighed. “Well, I'll be doing some praying myself, and I'll tell my deputy to let you know if he sees any armed strangers in town. Good luck to you Miles Standish.”

The sheriff was about to step out the door when Standish stopped him. “Sheriff, I want you to know that if something happens before you get back, it's not your fault.”

“I've got guilt enough without taking that on.” Dolby scuffed at the dust with his boot. “But I'll do it anyway. Anyhow, I've got to get moving. I'll just get back to Last Chance just in time for the 3:15.”

“You need money for the train tickets.”

“No! Those damn commissioners give me any trouble on this, and I'll through them in jail for obstruction of justice.” Dolby stared into Standish's eyes. “You take care of yourself…and them.”

“Good luck, Sheriff.”

The sheriff stepped out the door and climbed on his horse. He waved over his shoulder as he galloped away.

Standish stood in the doorframe, watching the trees. Arch and Iona stepped out and ran toward the cabin.

The scar on Iona's cheek was glowing red. “What did the sheriff want?”

“Burkhart complained that I had brutalized his wife.”

“Brutalized?” Iona's voice was seasoned with disbelief. “How could he say that?”

“Guess if you're the president of the bank, you can say anything you want to.”

“The sheriff certainly left in a hurry.” Iona said, the question plain on her face.

“I suspect public servants have to look busy.”

Iona stared at Standish. “There's something you're not telling me.”

“There are millions of things I'm not telling you. I haven't told you that my big toe itches. I didn't mention that I have a craving for strawberry shortcake.”

A smile crossed Iona's face.

Standish shrugged. “I guess I haven't told you that I'd like to take you to church tomorrow morning.”

“Church?” Pain etched lines into Iona's face. “Reverend T.C. Baunder.… After Hedrick died, he.…”

“Iona, what was it you told me your grandfather said when you went sailing?”

“Full sail and straight ahead.”

“I think we have to go to church tomorrow.”

Iona nodded stricken. “But not Arch.”

Standish turned to Arch. “What do you say?”

“I'll go.” The boy's voice cracked, and his face twisted into a mask

The church's steeple pointed an accusing finger at heaven. Wagons were scattered about, horses snatching at clumps of grass. A hymn cold as a winter wind moaned up the knoll. The service had begun.

Standish turned on the wagon seat to look at Iona, her face pale as the church.

“Ready?”

Resolve settled on her face, bending her lips into a straight hard line. She nodded.

“Arch?”

The boy said nothing, staring silently at the church.

Standish cleared his throat. “Arch, maybe it would be better if you waited for us.”

“Ain't nothing would keep me from going. Only wish I had the shotgun.”

Hairs quivered on Standish's neck.

“Arch, we're going to set this straight. We don't want to hurt anybody.”

“Maybe you don't.”

“Could you let me handle this?”

“They better not hurt Ma.”

“I won't let them do that, Arch. I promise you that.”

Standish stood up, bracing his legs against the seat. “Full sail and straight ahead,” he yelled. He touched the reins to Hortenzia's back. She sensed the moment and thundered down the hill, the wagon trailing two ribbons of dust behind it.

Standish pulled Hortenzia to a stop. He stepped down from the wagon, reaching up to take Iona's hand. Arch slipped over the other side of the wagon, appearing a moment later beside Standish and his mother. Standish reached into the wagon, retrieving Bele's journal.

The trio stood for a moment on the step. “I'll go in first” Standish said. “Just stay close.” They stepped into a church reeking of false piety. The lay reader stopped mid-sentence as the three strode up the aisle. They were about halfway to the pulpit when the Rev. T.C. Baunder rose in indignation.

“Sir, we do not associate with whores in this church. You must take the whore and her whelp and leave.”

Standish ignored him, turning at the pulpit to face the congregation. “Are you so frightened of the truth?”

Baunder stalked Standish, his face seething hatred. “This is my church. You will not.…”

Standish shrugged. “I must have been mistaken. When I saw the cross on the steeple, I thought this church was created for the worship of God, not you.”

Baunder's mouth opened and closed as though he were torn between speaking and breathing. “We are in the midst of a service. I see no reason.…”

Standish shook his head. “When we stepped through that door, you made serious accusations against Mrs. Belshaw. Surely you would not deny us a chance to defend ourselves.”

A bull of a man stood up in the back of the church, and shouted. “Bull…poop! He shouted. “It is a.…”

“Quandary,” Arch yelled.

The man blinked. “It is a quandary of a thing when a.…”

“When a hesper,” Arch shouted.

The man stood silent for nearly a minute. “Well, I don't know why I should have to listen to him,” he said, pointing at Standish, “when we pay good money.…”

“Quandary of a thing,” Arch yelled.

The man sat down muttering to himself.

Another man stood. “One thing I'd like to know. What makes him an expert on the whore?”

A murmur fluttered through the congregation.

“She is my sister,” Standish hissed.

“He's my uncle,” Arch shouted into the silence that followed.

“Listen!” Standish whispered. “Listen to the pain you have inflicted on this good Christian woman.”

Myron Kennedy made his way to the front of the church. He bowed his head to Iona and turned to face the congregation. “I am ashamed of myself. I know Mrs. Belshaw is a good woman, but when I heard people saying those terrible things about her, I didn't come to her defense. I was weak. I didn't stand up for what I knew is the truth.”

Kennedy's Adam's apple jerked in his throat. “Mrs. Belshaw is an excellent seamstress. She is the one who does those fine shirts I sell. She sneaks into my store so she won't have to face the insults. I don't know why I let that happen, but I did, and I am ashamed of myself. We owe her our time. We must listen to what they have to say.”

Standish's voice dropped to little more than a whisper, and his words pierced the congregation.

“When Christ came upon men about to stone a woman they believed to be an adulteress, He said let he who is without sin cast the first stone. No stone was thrown. The woman was set free. But you have not listened to Christ. You have been throwing stones at Mrs. Belshaw, and she is an innocent woman.”

Another man rose. “To hell with you, you.…”

Kennedy stepped forward. “We must listen.”

The man shook his head, “I don't,” and he shuffled through the pew.

Kennedy whispered, “Please. We owe this lady that much.”

“I don't see a lady. I see a whore.”

Iona walked down the aisle toward the man. “Sir, you were looking for a whore that night when you came to our place drunk. We could see you from where we were hiding. You didn't see a whore that night, and you are not seeing a whore now.”

The man cocked his fist, and Arch ran screaming from the front of the church he hit the man knee high, and the man staggered. Before he fell, two men had him by the shoulders. They started with him toward the door, when Standish interrupted. “He must listen to this. You all must listen.”

The man was shoved back into the pew.

Standish held Bele's journal above his head. “I don't know how many of you knew Klaus Bele. He was dying of tuberculosis when he came here. He befriended the Belshaw family as Christ said we must. One night Arch,” Standish put his hand on Arch's shoulder, “went to Klaus Bele's cabin. He found him burning with fever. He did as every Christian should do. He sought help for his neighbor. This woman”—Standish put his hand on Iona's shoulder—“this good Christian woman answered that call. She made tea of yarrow leaves and while it was boiling on the stove, she ran a wet towel over Bele's body to cool him.”